gisters. Even more astonishing – it doesn’t hurt. Well, not much, just a slight ringing sting.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
I blink at him, confused.
“Answer me.”
“Okay.” I frown.
“Don’t frown.”
I blink and try for impassive. I succeed.
“Did that hurt?”
“No.”
“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” My voice is uncertain. Is it really not going to hurt?
“I mean it,” he says.
Jeez, my breathing is so shallow. Does he know what I’m thinking? He shows me the crop. It’s brown plaited leather. My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they’re alight with fire and a trace of amusement.
“We aim to please, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. “Come.” He takes my elbow and moves me to beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather cuffs.
“This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.”
I glance up. Holy shit – it’s like a subway map.
“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall.
“Put your hands above your head.”
I oblige immediately, feeling like I’m exiting my body – a casual observer of events as they unfold around me. This is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It’s singularly the most exciting and scary thing I’ve ever done. I’m entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked-up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear. Kate and Elliot, they know I’m here.
He stands very close as he fastens the cuffs. I’m staring at his chest. His proximity is hea一venly. He smells of body wash and Christian, an inebriating mix, and that drags me
back into the now. I want to run my nose and tongue through that smattering of chest hair. I could just lean forward…
He steps back and gazes at me, his expression hooded, salacious, carnal, and I am helpless, my hands tied, but just looking at his lovely face, reading his need and longing for me, I can feel the dampness between my legs.
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